On an old carpet littered with books and worn-out clothes lay a dark figure. It was barely visible, blending into the shadows it preferred over the bright sunlight reflected off the snow outside. Edgar stared at the ceiling—or what passed for one, the dark stonework of the tower above him. Somewhere in the corridor, the metallic clink of gates echoed. Breakfast? Most likely.

Every day was a copy of the last: the same darkness, the same breakfast, the same guard rounds. If the "ugly prince" stayed silent too long, the guards would bang on the doors until he responded. Dinner came later, but lunch? Apparently, his dear brother decided not to spend a single coin on it, just to make Edgar suffer. Not that it mattered. He was already suffering. How long had he been here? Ten years? Fifteen? Just numbers, nothing more.

The sound of footsteps reverberated through the stone corridors. Edgar counted them silently in his head—twenty-five paces for the servant to reach his cell. Today, he wasn’t in the mood to eat, even though he should. But putting on the mask... again?

There was a knock on the door, faint, barely audible. He ignored it. A minute passed, and the knock came again, this time firmer.

“Just leave me alone!” Edgar shouted, unable to hold back, rolling onto his side. The knocking stopped.

Instead, the sound of a small window sliding open reached his ears, followed by the clang of a metal tray being pushed through. Silence. That made him tense. The new servant hadn’t left? Odd. All the others dropped off the food as quickly as possible and fled, still fearful of his hypnosis, despite his blindness.

Fine, Edgar thought. If this one was curious enough to linger, let them look. He pushed himself up, barely put on a mask, trudging towards the small slot in the door, stepping into the dim light.

“I said, leave me alone, you little brat. Didn’t I make myself clear? The food’s here, I’m taking it. Now get lost before I do something terrible—something straight out of those rumors you all love to whisper about.”